


Hands Made of Smoke

by DEVILISHAKIRA



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Feels, Castiel Dies (Supernatural), Castiel is Taken by The Empty | The Shadow (Supernatural), Episode: s15e18 Despair - Castiel's Confession Scene, Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Rewrite, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:42:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27823192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DEVILISHAKIRA/pseuds/DEVILISHAKIRA
Summary: i held your face between my hands so tenderly, i could not tell if the warmth was from your feverish skin or my blood rushing in my veins, electric from being so close. now i wonder if you felt the same, whilst you were here.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	Hands Made of Smoke

"You're the most caring man on Earth."

The room seemed to collapse inwards and Dean felt like someone was pilling pounds upon pounds of bricks on his heart, so much it began to sink to the floor and liquefy against the cool concrete; turning to ice.

"You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know. You know, ever since we met and ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me..."

Every single thought to where this conversation could end, it rushed past his ears like roaring wind, echoing along with the banging door. Every single drop of blood in his body seemed to evaporate and freeze.

"Because you cared, I cared. I cared about _you_. I cared about Sam. I cared about Jack..."

Dean's hands began to tremble, and when he clutched them together, they began to shake. Crescents indented in his skin kept him grounded to this moment, even though he felt his soul screaming to escape his chest.

"I cared about the whole world _because_ of **you**. You changed me, Dean."

"Why does this sound like a goodbye?" Cas stepped forwards and reached for Dean's face, his hands warm against Dean's chilled skin. He could feel every perfect imperfection that graced Cas' hands. He became motionless, his body would not listen to his racing mind. He was stuck to the spot, stopped in time; to only feel warmth against his skin. His eyes are wide open.

"Because it is..."

Dean's heart sinks lower into the floor at those words and takes one final long, lingering look at the man in front of him. Then his eyelids flutter shut and he moves further into Castiel's hold, to savor the touch. It's been years coming. All the times Dean has held him like this cannot match up to now. The sting in his eyes is ten times better and a hundred times worse than every instance before. Every fleeting glance, every out of place comment. Every gut feeling, every inkling of hope. It was true. It was all so true. And it hurt. Every meeting, every shared joke, every look, every smile, every touch; it's cataloged in the ten thousand pages of the book entitled The Chronicles of Dean Winchester and Castiel, Angel of the Lord, with hundred upon hundreds of annotations in the margins. The warmth, now that his fists have unfurled and the only crescents that remain is the moon outside, it begins to tie him to the moment, the now. First with string, then glue, rope, chains and padlocks. There is no way he misses a single detail. The blood in his ears rival his thumping heart, the one muscle in his body that is not restrained in its melancholy. It's a chorus of thunderous applause, after an orchestral performance. The air is thick and he feels the adrenaline rushing, coursing through every capillary in his body. The heat only grows in intensity. Something brushes past his face, smooth and rough at the same time.

_"I love you."_

It sounds more like a whisper, Dean isn't sure at first. The scalding heat remains. But his blood begins to settle and with it, comes the silence of the room. The retreating, liquid noise. The muted scream of someone fighting consumption. The absence of breathing. Cas didn't need to breathe, but he did. Dean wishes he didn't have to, the pressure in his lungs is bursting and painful.

With a long shuddering gasp, Dean Winchester opens his eyes to an empty room. A cold face. Warm lips.


End file.
